


La Vie en Rose

by Aly (alyrawrus)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Music, Vinyls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 08:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16806781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyrawrus/pseuds/Aly
Summary: ONE SUPPOSES that he or she should pick quality over quantity. In a place where the product is given to you in a snap, Janice prefers to stick to her vinyl records and her handy typewriter. She uses the records to give her inspiration and the typewriter to bleed all emotions felt. An aspiring writer, she attempts to finish her novel in hopes of impressing the publishers, her friends, family, and most importantly: herself.However, that goal is stalled when she gets the sniffles of the writer's block. She desperately tries to get that inspiration back when she starts to visit the record store every day. From the boogie of the Disco to the upbeat rhythm of the Pop, she tries them all but to no avail; her senses scream that the writer is under a state of calamity.As Janice is about to visit the store for the last time, she catches the eye of a first-time customer, Gwilym. After a short discussion on who deserves the last stock of the White Album, they both agree to share it anyway. Now their dilemma is how long one can keep it, who can keep it, and how long do they have to lend each other the bloody thing until the next stock arrives.





	La Vie en Rose

**[Listen to the Music by the Doobie Brothers](https://youtu.be/GVgMzKMgNxw) **

* * *

**THE WRITER'S BLOCK** is a violent reaction to the writer's ability to write; it temporarily sucks the mind and soul. The writer's block can only be defeated when he or she attempts to claim his or her mind and soul back. Although it is a dilemma for everyone, most writers never went back to fight for that glory. Whether it be a novel or a poem, there is always an adventure behind it.

Unfortunately for Janice, she feels no adventure in the current situation that she has.

As the weeks passed by, each pressure placed on her typewriter's buttons displayed frustration and hopelessness. She had been so hard on herself to the point that her finger was injured for getting it stuck between the buttons repeatedly. She was familiar with the small mishaps but the blunder started to arise every second that it had distracted her from her own work and buffered the progress of the novel.

But there was always music to accompany her when she was writing. Music meant a thousand things like ballads, sonatas, or her surroundings—the wind knocking on her door or the cars that pass by from morning till noon. Inspiration to Janice was right at her window as all she needed to do was drag her office chair in front of the window, stare, and listen.

However, aleatoric music was _not_ the only thing she listened to. If the honk of every car was too loud or if the wind pounded on her door, she always had her turntable as her best friend. She had the classics: _Beethoven, Chopin, Madonna, the Beatles, Queen, Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Sister Sledge_ , and _Eric Clapton_... depending on your definition of " _classics_. " She listened to the life and times of each musical artist as they were compressed into CDs, MP3s, and LPs. Janice preferred the LPs as the quality of the music was rich enough to give her much concentration.

These were the few things that she did to defeat the writer's block before she faced _this_ predicament.

Perhaps it was the isolation that stopped Janice from writing. She could only write so much until the air becomes harder to breathe in new ideas. Even if she had the windows open, greeted the neighbours sweetly, went to the grocery daily, and worked from nine to five, there wasn't anything to pick up from there. It wasn't a different day every day, it was a _routine_. If one had to be honest, a routine may or may not bring one somewhere.

"Clouds, journey, white, grey, and a goal,"Janice whispers to herself as she lightly taps the end of her pen on her lips. She spins on her office chair as if she stirred her coffee and lightly puts her feet down in front of her window. Her eyes widen at the sight of the sky and a small smile appears on her face.

_"I've got it."_

The writer quickly stands up and walks to her turntable. She looks through the cover of each record and holds each with gentleness. She quickly grabs a record, puts it high up her face, turns the cover, checks out the songs, and simply nods before putting it back where it belongs. Some she considers to play, some she simply frowned upon. Regardless of the variety that she had, she ended up getting her oldest LP— _Best of the Doobies_ by the _Doobie Brothers_.

She quickly wipes the dust off of the record and flips it to the first side before placing it on the turntable. From there, the music starts to play and she regains her composure. Walking back to her table, Janice takes a deep breath and starts to write. 

The music had made her feel alive again. A new word was written beat after beat and a new idea was formed through every line of the songs. To Janice, that shot of inspiration came back and she sees new colours form in front of her eyes. The buildings turn from its dull shades to hues of pink, yellow, and orange. Like the glass of the buildings, the paper gleams and gives off an inviting aura for her to write. By the power of music, it had turned on all of her senses and gave her a personal invitation to continue on.

_"The clouds ran into the night like soldiers,"_ she writes as the record plays in the background.

_"Their duty was endless and tiring. Protecting mortals from the scorching sun was their destiny and the heat of their enemy ends their fate every time. However, they had the tendency to be frivolous with their armour. They could make the whole place dark, they could cry to the point that their intention to kill was questioned. The notion that clouds had experienced more than the volcanoes or the sea was no difference that of a soldier to an ordinary citizen,"_ she continues.

_"They appeared out of nowhere and disappeared when they didn't want to. Greeted by the deadly kiss of the sun, the clouds tend to run away but to no success. They all died anyway. Sometimes death for a cloud can be quick and sometimes slow. Though they are painful all the same._

 _However, it was live and let die for the two lovers. It is unknown if their actions were an act of selfishness and greed, or respect and privateness. They were the clouds that did not weep when others disappeared; it's unknown whether the tears came from the cloud above them or from themselves-"_ The moment ends when the record starts to repeat itself. Sighing, Janice looks at the poor record replaying repeatedly.

 _"Well I know, you k- I say- Meet me in the- We'll be happy-"_ In exasperation,she turns off the turntable without looking at the buttons and grabs the record. Memories rush over her head and she puts back the record in the cover.

The shimmering glass of the buildings returns to their original state but only darker. The last of the sun falls and the moon glows brightly to greet the stars with his hellos. Cars down the block turn on their headlights and their number increases, causing the whole neighbourhood to irk at the midst of the traffic jam. Beneath it all, the woman purses her lips and moves on from the situation outside of the flat to the inside of the flat.

"What do you know, maybe I should get another copy of thi... _Oh, Janice, you have much money to spare, don't you?_ " She rolls her eyes and glances at her paper. A chapter was barely written and now she got the _writer blockitis_ again.

"Desperate times calls for desperate measures," she notes to herself as she places the newly-written paper on top of her failed drafts, "I'll have to go to the shop tomorrow, then. So be it."

AGENDA FOR TOMORROW

1. Buy a carton of milk and a box of Frosties

2. Steal some pens from Geoffrey's cubicle.

3. Finish the presentation for the big boss. (Note: Use Geoffrey's monthly reports.)

4. Visit the record store before going home. TOP PRIORITY.

Even if stealing the pens was just as important as visiting the record store, she knew that she was simply hoarding her officemate's items. The prices of her favourite pens grew this year and she didn't have the need to buy more. _There wasn't any mention of stealing in the office's official rules anyways._ She needs to hold onto the flat and the records; those pens would be empty and end up as pieces of plastic over her dead body.

The only thing on her mind is the LPs. It's been a while since she last visited, no harm done.

She packs up all of her work, leaving it on one corner, to prepare her small dinner. It is tempting to celebrate the fact that she had thought of something but the facts are overshadowed by the scratches of the record and the tediousness that came after the music had stopped.

Teardrops fall on her eyes as her windows were knocked with wind and tears from the sky. Somehow she had managed to hold her head up high that she forgot to do such a simple thing—cry. Mayhaps it was the preoccupation in work or the novel. In addition to that, she had experienced some prejudice at work.

It is okay to cry.

She picks up a random record from the shelf and plays some _Patsy Cline._ She sighs for the millionth time and munches her food slowly, trying to process the web of situations she got in. For the love of God, will this ever stop?

That's alright. **She'll just listen to the music.**


End file.
